Asinge, Friends!
At just a few degrees above the equator, my Cameroonian village in West Africa can depend on at least one thing arriving with consistency –nightfall at 6:30. Water in the public taps, electricity, phone network, the long promised road repairs, teachers for the new school year – cross your fingers but don’t hold your breath. Electricity has been out for almost a week now, so today I traveled to charge my computer, only to find that riding over broken roads on motorcycles, jungle humidity that keeps clothes damp for a week, or maybe lizard droppings, have gotten the best of my keyboard – this draft looks like code so may letters aren’t working! I’m typing by candlelight and have put out buckets to collect rain for my morning bath and dishes. My alarm clock will be the bustle of early morning village life – chickens, babies, wood-chopping, open-fire cooking, and neighbors yelling greetings to those trekking to their cocoa farms or hauling water.
It’s all part of the rollercoaster ride as I try and integrate into my community as a Peace Corps health volunteer - the first foreigner to have a presence here in 20 years. The learning curve has been more like a free fall as I get used to hearing “WHITEMAN” yelled as I pass by villagers still taken aback by my presence, keep my front door open despite my desire for privacy to respect the culture of openness, and play hardball with vendors and drivers who instantly quadruple their price with me– I joke that I’m from the Bamilike tribe, known for driving a hard bargain.
My job, helping this community identify and address their health development needs, has been at once the most rewarding, exasperating, and eye-opening pool of experiences I’ve even been thrown head first into. I’m lucky that cultural exchange is part of our responsibility – I get to learn about their challenges (poor prices for their crops), frustrations (bad roads) and what brings them joy (singing!) as I pick up phrases in Bakossi and we make pancakes. The disempowering effects of political oppression, rampant systemic corruption and few opportunities have been upsetting to watch in action, but have also sparked unforgettable conversations with frustrated moto taxi drivers, high school students aching to study in America, and neighbors tired of seeing local needs ignored by those with power.
As a health educator I get to work with students from nursery to high school, using games and demonstrations to teach everything from proper hand washing (difficult to promote when any water is hard to come by) to HIV awareness. I relish walking into classrooms and having all the students, in their blue and white uniforms, stand and greet me in unison, and always try and bring them a new song. They love “Amazing Grace”, and I just got to lead pre-schoolers in “This Little Light of Mine” for their parents!
Perhaps most moving of all has been teaching reproductive health to young women who are going through adolescence and womanhood without even basic information. The school curriculum includes no sexual education, though premature pregnancy and STD’s are major problems among youth. The first time I held a seminar for 7th-9th grade aged girls and put out a “Question Box” for their confidential matters, I could not hand out slips of paper fast enough for their outpouring of uncertainties. I cried reading them afterward, realizing I’d hit a serious nerve of need that I could actually respond to. Helping them navigate pregnancy and child-rearing concerns, introducing the benefits of family planning, and sending the message that they can positively influence their own lives is a role I love. Doing so in the context of rampant need and the social and cultural complications I’ve been learning about for years is a dream come true.
Still, the going is slow and the heat, harassment and endless house malfunctions can make crawling out of bed utterly overwhelming. But thrilling moments make the headaches of trying to function where basic functioning often seems out of reach immediately worth it. Last weekend I saw my first delivery of a tiny baby girl, on a wooden bed with just a few basic instruments and one kerosene lantern in the room- breathtaking! Yesterday a nurse and I hosted the first session of a support group for HIV+ women that we are trying to launch – it has taken months to find even a few women willing to share their status with others. Talking about the free treatment available to these women, who have never had autonomy over so much as a dollar, let alone their own health, was powerful.
One of the biggest surprises has been how and where Western influences have infiltrated daily life. Even those who live on dirt floors and without running water have cell phones, and everyone loves calling just to say hi! Many people dress in the flashy Western clothes available cheaply in the market, yet are still using pit latrine toilets and cooking over a fire…but in faux Gucci jeans and with their Lady Gaga ring tone sounding from a nearby rock. Beer companies’ hold is strong, but stronger still are the sorcery beliefs that are the assumed root of everything from unexplained deaths to higher than normal electricity bills. Daily life is often a chaotic and dizzying moshpit of tradition and modernity.
